


It Feels Good Until It Doesn't

by kawaii5lyfe



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cheating, Enemies to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, One Shot, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 07:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaii5lyfe/pseuds/kawaii5lyfe
Summary: “You could have said no.” Kuroo can feel Daishou’s amused words hum under his palm.It takes a great amount of restraint for Kuroo not to tighten his grip. “I did!”“Then you shouldn’t be so easy to convince, Tetsu-chan.”





	It Feels Good Until It Doesn't

Nothing killed a post orgasm high quite like guilt.

Kuroo pushed his mussed hair from his eyes with the heel of his palm. It’s sticky with sweat and it takes a few fumbling strokes of his fingers before it stays put. He lets his arm fall above his head like a weight anchoring him to the bed. He feels spent, and sleepy and sticky and he wonders how many more descriptive words he can use that start with the letter ‘s’. He feels… Stupid. Wetting his lips with his tongue Kuroo blinked languidly as the body besides him shifts. Through the corners of his vision he sees them sit up, sturdy legs folding as they reach to slide the window open. He shouldn’t be here, he thinks. He’s the  _ wrong _ person to be laying naked in  _ this _ bed, long limbs tangled up in sweat and cum soaked sheets. Kuroo’s forehead wrinkles as he swallows thickly. He feels shitty.

The click of a lighter sparking into life draws Kuroo’s half lidded gaze from the ceiling to a pale muscular back slick with sweat. His eyes flick from toned triceps to the firm swell of biceps before watching thick fingers press a cigarette between lips still swollen from being bitten. Kuroo watches the cherry of the cigarette flare bright when a long, slow drag is pulled from it.

“Shut up.” The words leave Daishou’s mouth as smoke. He tilts his head back, dark hair dipping back to kiss where his neck meets his shoulders. His eyes are closed, cheeks still stained pink.

Kuroo frowns as he watches Daishou take another drag. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t care. Shut up.” Daishou exhales, eyes cracking up as he flicks ash out the window.

There’s no teasing lilt to his tone, no smirk tugging his lips back. There’s no cruelty laced to his words either but it doesn’t keep Kuroo from rolling his eyes back to the ceiling with a snort. He almost snaps back that he isn’t Daishou’s mom, and that if he wants to keep fucking up his lungs that’s his own fault.

But Kuroo stopped lecturing Daishou about his post fuck cigarette years ago so he presses his lips together into a thin line instead.

He wants to leave. Kuroo knows there’s really no reason for him to stay. There never has been. By this time he’s usually tugging his clothes back on and checking to make sure he didn’t miss the last train home. The bile burning the back of his throat pushed up by the guilt constricting his stomach usually came later when he was scrubbing the evidence from his body under scalding rivulets of water. Kuroo drags his gaze back to Daishou as he runs a hand back through his hair, sharp eyes watching the curls of smoke dissipate out the window. Kuroo’s eyes flick across his profile, tracing the straight line of his nose, the high crest of his cheek bones, the sharp angle of his jaw. He’s aggravatingly beautiful in the same way ikemen idols are beautiful. It made whatever this was -not quite friends with benefits because that would require them to be friends in the first place- easy in the beginning.

Kuroo would sneer as he called Daishou a pretty boy, a thrill of delight spiking up his spine when his words were met with a sharp toothed grin. Daishou’s retort would be laced with venom, stepping into Kuroo’s space, sharp eyes gazing up at him from beneath his long lashes. Nether of them would back down and Kuroo figures that is how they ending up falling into bed, or in empty restrooms with their shorts tugged down around their knees. It’s rough and dirty and it  _ feels good _ . Kuroo’s spent, flushed cock twitches where it lays heavily against the junction between his hip and thigh. Hands balling into loose fists Kuroo has to force himself to look away from the pale expanses of Daishou’s skin laid bare. It used to be so easy. Fuck. Nut. Leave. Repeat, when their frustrations were wound too tight. But now…

“You should tell Mika.” Kuroo mutters, flinching at going off routine even more.

He expects Daishou to tense, tell him to get out or shut up or lash out. What Kuroo doesn’t expect is Daishou to laugh. It’s a quick, breathy chuckle and he can hear the grin behind it.

“Why?” ask Daishou, an amused lit to his voice.

Kuroo’s eyes widen a fraction, brows pinching and mouth twisted in a frown as he looks over. Daishou isn’t looking at him. His eyes are closed but curved with his smile around the tongue between his teeth. The cigarette, now a short nub, burns lazily between his fingers.

“You’re really asking me why you should tell your  _ girlfriend _ your fucking around on her?” Kuroo’s tone is incredulous.

He wants to say he isn’t surprised. Well, maybe he is a bit, because he sort of hoped that Daishou wasn’t thoroughly a piece of shit. Daishou hums, clearly feigning that Kuroo’s question requires deep thought. The cigarette is snuffed out and despite himself Kuroo lifts his arm when Daishou leans back. His head weighs heavy against Kuroo’s stomach, the smooth locks of his hair gently tickling his bare skin. Kuroo watches Daishou cross an ankle over a bent knee before settling his palm against Daishou’s throat. There’s no pressure applied as his fingers curl naturally against the sticky skin of Daishou’s neck, but it doesn’t stop a small tremor and a contented sigh from the spiker. They’re so off script by now and it’s making Kuroo feel nauseous.

“You could have said no.” Kuroo can feel Daishou’s amused words hum under his palm.

It takes a great amount of restraint for Kuroo not to tighten his grip. “I did!”

He spits the words out, voice tight leaving his dry throat. The chuckle that bubbles up from Daishou’s chest  _ really _ has Kuroo practicing self restraint from choking him.

“Then you shouldn’t be so  _ easy _ to convince, Tetsu-chan.” Daishou’s tone is smug, drawing out the word ‘easy’ for needless emphasis as he turns his head to grin up at Kuroo.

The glare that Kuroo gives him feels completely nulled by the heat creeping up his neck as a blush blooms across his skin. He thinks of the video still waiting to be deleted on his phone, of Daishou’s shameless promise of _fucking himself open_ so they can just get straight to it by the time he came over. Kuroo hated himself a little bit that he didn’t need much convincing at that point. He hated himself a little more that his cock felt tight from the redirection of blood flow in his body at the memory. Daishou’s pulse flutters under his thumb signalling that Kuroo isn’t the only one thinking of the actions that brought them to this point. Something sharp flashes in the jade pools of Daishou’s eyes and Kuroo knows that if he doesn’t redirect this conversation they’re going to fuck again and _they don't do that_ _twice in the same day._

“You should break up with her.” Kuroo blurts out, tongue heavy as they wrap around the syllables.

Daishou’s glare is peircing, all traces of amusement gone like they never softened his features in the first place. Kuroo knows he’s being studied, his words being weighed and pried apart for alterative motive. He steels himself when Daishou turns on his side, the movement awkward with how he’s coiled against the wall. Kuroo winces at Daishou’s weight pressing against his diaphragm when he props himself on his forearm. The color has faded from Daishou’s cheeks, chest and shoulders but his normally perfectly manicured hair is tousled. Kuroo pointedly keeps their gazes locked. The temptation to let his eyes wander over the well defined muscles of Daishou’s chest and dipping lower to see just how affected he is is tantalizing. The sudden snort of laughter and the rapidity of Daishou’s expression changing has Kuroo’s frown deepening.

“Aw, Tetsurou!” Daishou coos, his eyebrows arching as his eyes curve with his grin. “Are you wanting me all to yourself?”

Kuroo’s balks, mouth dropping open at the horrible implication of how his words were taken.

Daishou leans forward, too sharp incisors flashing as he gives Kuroo a lethal stare through his mirth. “That’s gross.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,  _ asshole _ , so you can fuck right off!” Kuroo nearly shouts, wishing he could smack the smug look right off Daishou’s face. He props himself up on his elbows forcing Daishou to sit up on his own. “I’m trying to free my guilty conscious here.”

He tenses when Daishou surges forward, feral grin splitting his face as he swings a leg over Kuroo’s waist. His hands are pinned painfully under the sharp bones of Diahou’s shins, heat creeping down his neck as a long finger is traced up through the cooling sweat of his torso.

“Sounds like a personal problem, Tetsu-chan.” Daishou tone is honyed as he taps his finger against the tip of Kuroo’s nose.

Disgust mingled with the resentment seething in Kuroo’s blood. “Yeah, because clearly I’m the problem here.”

Daishou’s grin doesn’t falter. Kuroo is saved the trouble of shoving Daishou off of him when the spiker crawls the rest of the way off the bed. It bothers Kuroo that Daishou seems to be completely unaffected by all this. Mika was snarky but cute and appeared to  _ genuinely like _ Daishou. She deserved so much more than what she was getting. Kuroo clenches his jaw as he pushes himself into a sitting position. One of his legs hangs over the side of the bed, toes curling against the carpet. He could tell her himself. Instead of saving up all his sins for a deathbed confession, Kuroo could call Mika right now and tell her he’s been fucking her boyfriend long before they started dating. He could tell her he expected Daishou to value something more than his own selfish desires for once in his life, but instead he keeps begging for Kuroo’s cock and Kuroo’s a weak man so he keeps giving in, but not to worry because he isn’t romantically invested so… What? Don’t worry? Dump Daishou but pity Kuroo?

Through the corners of his vision he watches Daishou fish a clean pair of sweatpants from his dresser, and wordlessly pull them on before padding out of his bedroom. Pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes Kuroo sighs. Being left alone to put himself back together is back on script, back to routine but it doesn’t make Kuroo feel any better. His joints ache as he picks up his uniform scattered across the floor and he feels exhausted as he tugs his clothes into place. He wants to sleep for 20 years. He wants Daishou to ask someone else to fuck him, but he really wants Daishou to be a  _ goddamn _ decent human being. Kuroo thinks he should probably want that for himself too. Shouldering his bag Kuroo leaves Daishou’s bedroom door open after he leaves the room. He can hear Daishou moving around in the kitchen as he retraces his steps back to the foyer. Typically Kuroo let’s himself out without saying goodbye, and he wants nothing more to end this weird atypical encounter on a usual note.

So when he hears Daishou walk up behind him while he’s slipping on his shoes Kuroo wants to punch something as hard as he can. He exhales a steady breath through his nose, gaze flicking up to watch Daishou’s nimble fingers unlock the deadbolt on the front door. Kuroo flinches at the feeling of something cool and moist pressing against his thigh through his slacks, and he frowns at the bottled water Daishou is poorly offering to him. Everything about tonight feels incorrect in more ways than one and Kuroo doesn’t like how it makes him feel. If he takes the water then it would be like agreeing that it was okay to add things to their  _ arrangement _ , that it can start meaning more than just sex. If he doesn’t take it Kuroo can at least maintain some sort of normalcy about their fucked up situation, forcing it back into what it was. He swallows thickly. It can’t be ‘what it was’. It can’t be anything  _ period _ .

“Don’t be a shit.”

Kuroo brings his gaze to Daishou’s, a crease forming between his brows. His hackles are up instantly at the intense provocation behind the shorter boys’ stare. Daishou has his chin tipped down enough that he can stare up at Kuroo through his lashes, tongue darting out to wet his lips. It's a power struggle, a dance they know the steps to by heart. Kuroo can and cannot believe that Daishou has the gall to call  _ him _ a shit right now. It would be so easy to sucker punch him in the diaphragm, make him puke all over himself, or fist a hand in his hair and twist until he’s crying or cumming and--. Kuroo wrenches the door open.

“Whatever, man.” he grumbles, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

The slam of the door and the click of locks behind Kuroo feels like an odd sort of victory, but he doesn’t allow himself to revel in it. He knows he has to put this thing with Daishou to bed -no pun intended- one way or another, and he isn’t sure why it makes him feel sick.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this except that I love these two assholes, and there needs to be more stuff with them. Yep.


End file.
